


Talon's Toys

by MarquisDeGlad



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Kink, F/F, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strap-Ons, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 14:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarquisDeGlad/pseuds/MarquisDeGlad
Summary: What should have been simple missions turn out to be a traps designed to lure in some of Talon's sexiest enemies. Widowmaker and Sombra can't wait to play with their new toys...





	Talon's Toys

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Birthday present from a few years ago for a very dear friend of mine who gave me permission to post it. Hope all you pervs like it as much as much as she did.

“Yeah Emily. Yeah, I know love. ...Don’t you worry about a thing. Just a quick reconnaissance mission, and then I’ll be home, with dinner, and a kiss. ...Yes of course I’ll be careful. ...Alright, you too love.” 

Lena Oxton, codename “Tracer” closed out of her communicator, and prepped herself for her mission. She loved talking to her girlfriend, Emily, before a job, but she did worry so. But there was no reason to worry. Like she said, it was just a simple reconnaissance mission in London. There was a diplomatic meeting coming up, and more than a bit of evidence that Talon had something planned for it. The shadowy organization seemed to be getting sloppy of late, and all Tracer was really doing was confirming in person what was already essentially known through data leaks. Nothing to worry about at all.

With her gear prepped and ready, Tracer moved to the transport that would take her across the city covertly. As she was heading onboard, she noticed a tall, dark-skinned woman enter the Overwatch outpost. Tracer smiled.

“Hi-ya Amari! Here for another ‘check-up’ I take it?”

Fareeha Amari, better known by her callsign “Pharrah” rolled her eyes and tried to hide a smile.

“And what if I am? There’s no reason one cannot mix work with-”

Tracer giggled.

“You’re blushing, Amari...”

“I am not!”

The sound of an automatic door opening interrupted them.

“Girls, girls.”

Dr. Angela Zeigler, codename “Mercy” stepped out of her office.

“Fareeha, you’re clearly flushed, and I can tell from here that your heart and breath rates are elevated.”

“Yes, but I-”

Mercy gave her a stern look.

“My office. Now.”

Pharah looked like she wanted to say something, but shrugged, and walked past Mercy into the medical office. Tracer smirked, and was about to go, when Mercy spoke up.

“Oh, and miss Oxton?”

Tracer froze.

“...yes Doctor Ziegler?”

“Don’t make fun. Miss Amari has been working hard testing the new modifications to her flight suit. She needs these check-ups. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, you’re overdue on your own physical, aren’t you?”

Tracer gulped.

“Um… maybe?”

Mercy smiled.

“We’ll schedule it for when you get back from your mission. First thing.”

“But I’m supposed to bring dinner for Emily and-”

“No buts. It won’t take long. Emily will just have to wait.”

Tracer sighed as she got onto the transport and it took off.

“Yeah, and share… Oh well. Mercy is the best at her job, I suppose her… weird bedside manner is a small thing to put up with.”

Mercy watched the transport leave, then entered her office. Pharah had already stripped out of her flight suit and her clothes. Mercy smiled, and took out a pair of modified blood-pressure cuffs, and a very large thermometer.

“The doctor will see you now...”

Tracer arrived in the East End of London, right in the middle of Whitechaple.

“Alright. Reports of suspicious activity at the old Royal London Hospital building.”

She looked up at the imposing Gothic facade of the 18th century building.

“Talon’s certainly getting melodramatic. Wonder if there’s been a change in leadership...”

She made her way around the back of the building, sneaking through a back alley. The hospital was once the most impressive building on the street, but over the centuries, Whitechapel had grown up. Gothic skyscrapers loomed on all sides, dwarfing the historic building in comparison, their gargoyles and buttresses looming over the dark alleyways. Tracer was scanning the building for a discrete way in, when she noticed that a service door was actually glowing. No, not the door. The paint on the door. Someone had spray-painted glow-in-the-dark words on it. Tracer rolled her eyes. Some new trend in the tagging community no doubt. She moved closer to read it, just in case.

_WALK INTO MY PARLOUR_

Tracer tilted her head in confusion. She knew that phrase. From an old rhyme from when she was a child… She snapped her fingers. 

“‘The Spider and the Fly!’”

Smiling at the memory, Tracer set to work picking the lock of the door, when someone spoke from the shadows behind her.

“Bonjour.”

Tracer stopped and turned. She knew that voice.

Out of the corner of her vision, above her, crouched amidst the gargoyles, was Widowmaker. 

It didn’t take more than a glimpse of her form to make Tracer react. In an instant, the Overwatch agent had blinked away, into the air, back down, straight at the sniper. 

Straight into a fist. 

Widowmaker had learned from previous encounters as well. Tracer had moved so fast, she had failed to notice the additional mask her foe wore. A respirator mask. A venom-mine was on her fist like a brass knuckle, and the cloud of poison engulfed them both. Tracer managed a laugh even through the cough. 

“Still an old trick, innit?”

She tapped her chronal accelerator, reversed herself through time, and escaped the toxin, right back to where she started. 

Right back to where Widowmaker knew she’d be. 

A shot came out of the poison cloud. It struck Tracer in the chronal accelerator, expertly damaging it without destroying it. The electric surge stunned the girl, leaving her on the brink of consciousness. As her vision darkened, she saw the tall, domineering silhouette of her foe stride confidently out of the purple haze.

“Ah ma chérie. Ma jolie fille. It looks like the spider has finally caught her prey...”

Tracer’s head was spinning. Everything was sore. Her vision was dark, foggy. She felt like she was too heavy to even move, and yet the ground seemed to be moving underneath her fast, too fast. Her mouth felt like someone had replaced her tongue with steel wool. Her vision came clear for a second, and she saw Widowmaker just as the blue-skinned woman finished getting out of the last of her clothes. Tracer realized she was strapped to a bunk of some kind, as the blue skinned woman turned, smiled at her, and moved closer, applying a toxic looking purple lipstick as she did so.

“Ah you’re awake. And peeping at me, naughty, naughty. Ah well, c’est la vie. It’s not like I’m not going to have a peek at you.”

Tracer was about to make an attempt at speech when Widowmaker locked her in a deep kiss. It was like kissing an electric wire. She tasted blood, and something metallic and noxious, then her vision swam, and she slipped back into the dark of unconsciousness.

She woke again, with a jolt. 

She was strapped to a table, looking up at a bright light. She realized after a moment that she was naked except for her chronal accelerator. She tried to cry out, but found that she could not. She couldn’t even move, or struggle against the straps at all. Widowmaker’s face leaned into her vision. Along with another face, which she did not recognize, the face of a woman with sharp cruel features and fiery orange hair.

Widowmaker smiled at her coldly.

“I see you in there. You’re awake. Good. The good doctor has been so kind as to allow me to watch her work on you. She’s got to replace that little device I broke.”

She tapped the chronal accelerator, causing sparks to fly and surge across Tracer’s body. If she were not paralyzed, she would have screamed and bucked as the electricity arched across her chest, her stomach, her thighs. Instead, all that happened was that her eyes went very wide, and she screamed inside her own head, silently. 

Widowmaker made a sound that could have been a laugh.

“Normally this sort of procedure wouldn’t interest me, but then, it was my idea in the first place, ma chérie. I sense there is a, how would you say it? A spark between us.”

The orange haired woman laughed.

“When did you develop a sense of humor, Widowmaker?”

The assassin paused, a look of genuine confusion on her face.

“I did not… oh! ‘Spark!’ It is a pun. How amusing.”

She glanced down at Tracer, enjoying the fear visible only in the British woman’s eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready, Moira.”

It took only a few minutes into the procedure for Tracer’s mind to retreat into the merciful oblivion of darkness.

<strike>\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</strike>

“...Well, all your vitals are normal. And all your responses...”

Mercy took her fingers out of Pharah’s pussy, and stroked the inside of her thigh, watching the bound woman shiver and moan.

“Are perfectly healthy. Now, we have just one more test before I can send you back out there...”

Mercy stepped one leg up onto the patient bench, lifting up her skirt as she did so. She took the dental gag out of Phara’s mouth, and pressed her damp pussy to the Egyptian woman’s lips.

“Just a quick oral examination. If you do well on it, you get a treat…”

Mercy gasped, then moaned slowly as Pharah quickly, skillfully, eagerly, went to work. 

Angela Ziegler did not lack endurance, far from it, so she was surprised and impressed when Fareeha managed to drive her to orgasm in a matter of mere minutes. The doctor moaned loudly, then stepped away, smiling.

“Very good. You pass with flying colors. Now for your reward-”

They were interrupted by an alert. 

Mercy checked her communicator.

“Verdammt.”

She pulled her skirt back down.

“Your treat will have to wait. Apparently there’s a situation unfolding in Paris. We might have a chance to capture Widowmaker, and they want us to take point on the mission.”

She let Pharah out of her restraints. The security officer whined, but got dressed nonetheless.

“Alright, but you had best make it up to me when we get back.”

Mercy grinned.

“Watch your tone, dear.”

The two women smiled, suited up, and set out.

<strike>\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</strike>

“Lena… Lena… Wake up ma beauté.”

Tracer heard someone calling her by her real name, someone in the dark, someone close by. She knew that if she let her mind follow it, she’d come out of the fog, but she was afraid of what would be waiting for her. There was a pressure on her face that she couldn’t understand. And a smell. And a… dampness. Then pain. Her breasts had been slapped. Her eyes shot open.

She found herself nude, lying on the ground, underneath the kneeling Widowmaker, her face strapped between the blue assassin’s thighs.

“Ah good. You’re awake.”

Widowmaker relaxed her hand, a second slap to Tracer’s breasts being unnecessary.

“Well, get to work. We both know you know what you’re doing down there.”

Tracer glared. If she had despised the assassin before, she loathed her now, utterly and completely.

“If you think I’m gonna do any such thing, you’ve gone absolutely bloody crazy you bi-AAAAAAIIIEEE”

Tracer’s mind raced. She couldn’t tell where she was. Everything hurt. Time was moving too fast. Too slow. It felt like hours, days even, of plummeting through empty space while her body struggled to anchor itself. 

Then it stopped.

Barely a second had passed. Tracer felt a few sparks coursing down her body, and when she looked, she saw that her chronal accelerator was gone, replaced by a series of circuits set directly into her skin. 

Widowmaker held up a remote.

“I just desynchronized you from time. I wonder what would happen if instead I slowed down your perception of time, but left your actual sychronization alone?”

“NO!”

Panic was clear in Tracer’s voice. 

There was no pity, or softness in Widowmaker’s face.

Tracer realized she had no choice.

Widowmaker sighed, moaning softly as she felt Tracer’s tongue slip into her pussy.

“Ahhhh, ma chérie… You do know what you’re doing. Keep it up. My target should be approaching soon...”

She steadied her rifle and kept her eyes on the skyline of buildings as Tracer continued to eat her out, blinking away the tears of shame and defeat as she did so.

<strike>\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</strike>

Mercy and Pharah took to the skies above Paris. They weren’t exactly stealthy, but then, the mission didn’t really call for stealth. Sure they were going up against possibly the world’s deadliest sniper, but for once, they had the advantage of surprise. Talon was getting sloppy. Sloppy and melodramatic. The same information leak that had led Tracer to her investigation into them in Whitechaple had revealed that the Sniper was targeting the Prime Minister of France. From on top of the Eiffel Tower. 

“Even if we’re approaching from behind, we’ll be in range of her rifle before she’s in range of my rockets. All she has to do is turn around...”

Mercy pressed a button on her wrist. Pharah’s objections were lost in a moan of pleasure. Mercy smiled.

“I see the modifications I made to your flight suit are working properly. I told you not to worry. We want her to see us. The tower has a wonderful trajectory on her target, but it’s also visible from the ground for miles. We’ve got our own sniper trained on the top of the tower. Once Widowmaker takes a shot at us, Anna will have a bead on her exact position, and will take her out.”

Pharah smiled. 

“Well if that’s the case-”

Something impacted on her chestplate. At the same instant, a hole was blasted through one of Mercy’s wings. Both women cried out in shock. On the ground, Anna was distracted for just an instant as she saw her fellow agents be shot out of the sky without any apparent source for the bullets. It was only after they began to plummet, exactly one second after the bullets had struck, that the sound of two rapid-succession rifle reports came from the top of the Eiffel Tower. In the instant it took Anna to line up a shot, the shooter was already gone. 

<strike>\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</strike>

Widowmaker calmly descended from the monument, her grapple wire lowering her down at breakneck pace. Tracer was bound in a wire of her own, being lowered next to her captor. Her face was soaked with Widowmaker’s cum, having driven the sniper to orgasm just as she took the shots that felled her fellow agents. She hated herself for being so helpless. 

On the ground, Widowmaker received the report that Mercy and Pharah had crashed into the river, been knocked unconscious when the water caused their suits to short-circuit, and been picked up by Talon agents. 

“Perfection.”

Widowmaker smiled down at Tracer.

“Let’s go home and celebrate, ma petite mouche...”

Tracer whimpered.

<strike>\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</strike>

Mercy and Pharah regained consciousness in Moira’s lab. They were strapped to a table, and to each other, each woman’s face pressed into the other woman’s pussy. They could only make out what was happening out of the corner of their eyes, but from the number of lab tech assistants the scientist had, and from the amount of machinery they were moving, it was clear that Moira was planning something very intense, and very bad. 

Both women tried to protest, their words being lost in the other’s thighs. Moira shook her head.

“Do not fight it. You’re transformation is as inevitable as your defeat was. I will make something glorious out of the two of you, a useful whole that will far surpass the sum of your flawed parts.”

An impatient voice came over the lab’s communicator. Pharah recognized the Mexican accent and the arrogance immediately.

“Just be sure they’re ready for my upcoming mission.”

Said Sombra.

“Oh, and while I’m here, I have one tiny change to your design. Move the weapon so her face is accessible. I want to be able to take advantage of at least one of them.”

Moira swallowed her irritation at the hacker’s insolence solely because the proposed design change did make sense. 

“Very well. They’ll be ready for you to test before your mission tomorrow.”

“Good. Sombra out.”

Moira turned back to her work, the ghost of a smile on her face in anticipation of scientific progress.

“Shall we begin?”

<strike>\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</strike>

“There. Finished.”

Widowmaker stepped back and admired her work. Tracer groaned in pain and dismay. Her ass felt like it was on fire. The pain was mixed with humiliation as Widowmaker snapped a photograph of her freshly tattooed ass, and showed her the result.

“‘Property of Widowmaker’ You like?”

Tracer whimpered pathetically. Widowmaker laughed, and picked up a strap-on.

“This one’s a little bigger than before, but I’m sure you can handle it, chérie.”

Tracer moaned. “Little bigger” was an understatement, the thing was huge. The British girl held her breath, when she was saved by Widowmaker’s communicator alert.

The sniper sighed, and activated the screen.

“What is it Sombra? I’m busy.”

The Mexican hacker was uncomfortably close to the camera, so her smile took up the whole screen.

“Hate to interrupt you, sure you’re doing very important work. I just wanted to know if you were interested in giving my new toy a test-run after my mission tonight?”

The camera moved, zoomed out, and refocused. Moira had done good work. Pharah and Mercy’s armor had been disassembled, reverse engineered, and rebuilt to new specifications. Mercy was held in place on her back, her breasts and ass exposed, everything else trapped in the armor. Her mouth was sealed to Pharah’s pussy, and the Egyptian woman was locked in place, seated on top of Mercy’s face. Her own breasts were exposed, as was her mouth. The result looked almost like a hover-scooter. Mercy’s prone body formed the base on which the rider could stand, and Pharah provided both the steering mechanism via buttons on her helmet (which, thanks to Sombra’s insistence, also stimulated both girls whenever triggered), as well as entertainment for the rider, as her mouth was positioned perfectly for eating out whomever was piloting the “vehicle.”

Sombra stepped onto her new ride, turned it on, and thrust her pussy into Pharah’s mouth as the contraption floated off the ground.

“You like? Their flight suits provide the propulsion, and little miss Mercy’s healing tech keeps the whole thing basically invulnerable to damage. Well, as long as she keeps eating her friend out. Which she will, if she doesn’t want to be shot out of the sky by her own former agency.”

Sombra laughed, as Widowmaker stared in appreciation.

“You know Somrba, I think I might just be interested. Tell me how your mission goes when you get back.”

Somra smirked.

“Sure thing!”

Widowmaker flicked off the communicator, and turned to Tracer, the strap-on ready.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you, Chérie. And if you start getting lonely, maybe I’ll pay your little girlfriend a visit and bring her here, hmm? Emily is a pretty name, and you two would look so cute together...”

Tracer shook her head and whined helplessly as Widowmaker lined up the strap-on with her ass. She was in for a very long night, and it looked like it was going to be the first of many.


End file.
